Picked up the new-to-me WR250 in July and the perfect way to get the feet wet and back into the off road business was to throw myself to the wolves and hit Taylor Park for a week with old riding buddies. Brilliant plan, huh?

Happy to report there were no broken bones or serious injuries this trip. Previous years were not so lucky. I remember one particular year involving a broken foot and someone who refused to admit something was wrong so he just slept in his boot since it was easier than taking it on and off each day.

So we loaded up the bikes and hit the road with one of my oldest riding buddies and his now 15 year old son who has been on two wheels since he was 4. A couple of other old friends and a couple of new faces. On a side note, that little 15 year old bastard got fast and fearless on us over the years. I’ve been away from the dirt for 5 or 6 years now and was WAY out of practice. The others were not so much.

We started the first day out with a little American Flag Mountain. Good way to get broke in and see what we were still made of. That was the first moment when we all realized the 15 year old was going to be handing our asses to us all week long. He smoked us all to the top. I didn't make it on the first attempt. Not enough ground speed and too out of practice.

The Fat Guy finally catches up.

There’s the little bastard now. With his Go Pro so he can remind us forever how much faster he was.

A day full of being shown up and being stiff and sore called for a little bit of gulf shark and brain fuel.

The next morning led to a ride up Slaughterhouse to Tin Cup, where the tire gremlins took their one and only victim of the week. Thank god there is a road into Tin Cup and we didn't have to go back the way we came.

The traffic outside of Tin Cup gets a little rough somedays.

That evening brought pork chops and tire repair.

The next morning brought a ride to Spring Creek reservoir in and then Timberline Trail in the afternoon. One good crash on my part that day. Essentially target fixation. "Dont hit that giant rock! Don't hit that giant rock!"
And BAM, I hit the ice chest sized rock in third gear at about half throttle. I remember landing on my back and the camelback squirting. That was about it.

Another evening came upon us and we put the young guy in charge of dinner. This is his version of how to make a burger.

Lies and excuses were told.

Rehydration occurred.

The last morning started with an argument with the trail captain.

While others waited and got annoyed.

And finally ended with a ride to Chrystal Lake.

The young guy looked over what he broke and the old guys wondered what happened to themselves.

Trailers were packed and the long drive home was made.

If I hadn't screwed around so long about putting this up I might remember more details. But I didn't. And I never get any good photos of the hairy parts of the trails.
Too busy trying not to crash for photos.

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